A GIF My Mother Should Recognize (Because It is From DAYS OF OUR LIVES). It's Humpday, Week 3, New Semester, and Ugh. Here's Where I Am

I have to await my mother's text. She'll recognize this .gif immediately: character, location, context, year, month, and where it fits into the Days of Our Lives scenario (she's never missed a reference). My guess is "Tony" circa 1987. That's all I got. Was I close? Actually, I typed buried under a rock, and this was one of the choices. I thought he looked familiar and guessed he might be relevant.

My point. I'm being buried alive. 

My point. It isn't a Day unless it's sand through the hour glass, even if it is Quick Sand....everyday of my childhood.

It's been my reoccurring nightmare for weeks, and then when I read about two women hiking on Walnut Beach being swallowed by melting snow in a sand slurry, my dreams became more vivid. They survived, but the images in my head did not. This is what I wake up to at 2 a.m. dreaming about. Last night, it was about alumni from Brown School telling me about the books they wished they read in high school that I never assigned (Thanks, Erin Lobb. You were the head of that committee).

Pant. Pant. Gasp. I'm doing all I can. 

I'm three weeks in, post-sabbatical, and this week is a little high on the 14-hour day miracles. Meeting upon meeting upon teaching upon research upon meeting upon writing upon due dates upon grading upon meeting upon next direction. 

I am drowning.

Yesterday morning, I woke up with a sinus migraine, only to learn that the atmospheric pressure is causing them all over the nation. I took a hot shower, medicated, and got to work. I had no choice. 1st class at 8 a.m. and last class ending at 7 p.m. (then the emails....Oi Vay, the emails). When I got around to falling asleep, my brain was already in pure panic mode. My biggest fear in life is being buried alive. This is what I felt in my last years at Brown School, and those fears are coming back again. When day life interrupts night/sleep life, it's time to pay attention.

I was ZOOM all last spring, ZOOM all summer long (270 students and 30 teachers), and only ZOOM light while on sabbatical. Back on full ZOOM-mode, I'm overwhelmed. It doesn't end...go...go...go...and there's no time to process, reflect, think critically, and understand.

Hence, the buried alive metaphor. Okay...hoping that the next 48 hours of meetings will help me to find a life jacket and buoy to grab onto. The suffocation is not a feeling I enjoy...

...at all...

But now I'm curious as to the Days of Our Lives metaphor. Was I close, Mom? Huh? Huh? Huh?